Like Humans Do
by Fanfic-Frankie
Summary: Hermione at 26 in a world much less than perfect. A little language and mild sexual themes. Chapter 5 up.
1. Like Humans Do

Ok, well, this was inspired by a song called, you guessed it, Like Humans Do, by David Byrne. However, this is not,I repeat NOT, a song fic. The lyrics are available at the end if your really want to read them. So yeah, enjoy. It's kind of shorter than I hoped, and probably choc a block full of errors and all... but I'm rambling. So read!

**Like Humans Do**

"She's so little!" The woman's face was still flushed with the effort of giving birth to the tiny baby girl she held in her arms. "I mean, just look at her. She's so, so-"

"Pink?" her husband suggested, waggling his eyebrows and grinning, elated at finally being a father. His wife gave him a look, the look, and he held his hands up in mock surrender.

"Sweet. She's sweet. And so innocent," the mother corrected, gazing fondly at her daughter. The baby began to cry.

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Said girl was no longer so innocent. A small bottle hung loosely from fingertips that barely seemed to notice its presence, filched from the mini-bar of the last motel that had acted as her accommodation for another night. Her hair was greasy, brush strokes clearly visible in the lank, brown locks, if locks they could still be called. Her eyelids were swollen, thanks to a lack of sleep for at least three days past. She Lent her head back against the station wall, sighing slightly. The station smelt of cheap cigarettes, sweat and urine. Wrinkling her nose she stood and heaved her bag onto her shoulder, staggering slightly not only with the weight but as a result of the aforementioned bottle's contents. Hermione Granger was not happy.

She managed to make her way up the escalator which, as always, was out of order. Her ticket refused to go through the ticket barrier twice before she slipped through and was able to leave the putrid station. Hermione barely made it to her flat unscathed, stumbling down the road with the stability of ten drunks. Crashing through the door she ditched her bag and slammed the door behind her, regardless of the fact it was nearing three a.m. Screw her neighbours. Who really cared?

Hermione practically crawled into her bedroom, slumping at the foot of her bed before beginning to cry. It was her birthday. She was twenty six. Twenty bloody six. And what did she have to show for it? No relationship, no friends, no family, no money, no career. She hadn't planned it this way, it was supposed to be better. Her tears grew more bitter as she slammed her fist repeatedly into her bed stead.

She found herself viciously hoping that he knew it was all his fault. Hoping that it ate him up inside, devoured him like worms. Her too, Hermione hoped she couldn't sleep for the guilt. Hermione smiled a little twisted smile, the smile of a drunk, before lapsing back into despair. Back into that night.

The Christmas Party. How ironic. Hermione had been making all those funny quips about how she hoped it wouldn't go as badly as Slughorn's party in sixth year. How she'd walked into that one.

She could recall that night as if she were there once more. The tinkling laughter, the circle of awe that had surrounded Harry as he tried desperately to play down his defeat of Lord Voldemort which still years later was the popular topic of conversation. A different Harry came out later, a worried and desperate Harry as he tried to block her view and distract her as she returned from the ladies room. Hermione recalls the slight sheen of sweat on his brow as he tried to talk to her, and her own joke that she was trying to hide something from her. Then someone had jostled him and he'd moved and she'd seen...

Hermione sobbed louder as she remembered that moment. The last moment she'd ever seen him in fact. Ron Weasley with his fucking tongue down fucking Lavendar Brown's throat. She saw them with perfect clarity, heard her own glass tumble out of her hand and shatter as it hit the white marbled floor of the Ministry's function room. Harry cried hoarsely after her as she wrenched the door open and stepped through. But no one had stopped her.

Hermione fumbled around for something to throw as the memory ended. She swore loudly, audible through the paper thin walls of her crappy flat. She'd already broken her TV and most of the china during a previous night of sorrow drowning. She flung her shoes into the darkness of her room, hearing them hit the walls with a satisfying THWACK! Smirking triumphantly she dragged herself up and onto her bed, trying to get comfortable on the old mattress and rock hard pillow. Her eyes closed and, if only due to exhaustion rather than peace, she fell into sleep.

Hermione had not had a good couple of years. From a high paying job at the Ministry of Magic, where she had a good health plan, not to mention a promotion in the offing, she had been reduced to becoming a waitress where the only perks were the occasional quid or two left as a tip. Cheapskates. She was living in the cheapest flat she could find, was living off frozen food, most of which had past its best before date and her wardrobe consisted of her uniform, a pair of jeans and a shirt or two. The rest had gone. Though her appearance had not changed fundamentally, she was barely recognizable as Hermione Granger. Perhaps because everyone called her Gemma Pinching.

She awoke the next morning to the sound of the couple above her apparently trying to break the bed and the couple below screaming at one another. Light streamed in through her curtain-less windows and she rolled over, groaning and swearing lazily. She fell out of bed, startling the arguing pair below her into silence, and staggered into what was meant to be a bathroom. The shower ran brown water for a few moments before turning clear enough to be considered washing water. She pulled her uniform on reluctantly, her hair wet and soaking her back. Hair driers were most definitely a luxury.

She looked at herself in the mirror and for a few moments she could see the old Hermione Granger. However, seconds later she disappeared and Gemma Pinching took her place. She took a few deep breaths and left the flat, scooping up her keys and kicking the bag of her belongings as she passed through the hall.

It was quite odd that she worked in London. Indeed, she worked less than a few miles away from the Ministry itself. She knew that for a while, Harry and Ron had looked for her, but she had known they would overlook her. She knew the way they worked too well from days spent in the Library so long ago. However, she did have to give them marks for trying. Hermione had heard that Harry had only given up a few months back and remained in 'constant vigilance' as Moody would say.

She entered the cafe wearily, her eyes barely open as the wafting smell of grease hit her hard. She had barely made it through her first order before her superior, a Mr. Bletchly, had squeezed her arse and muttered a lecherous comment in her ear. Her head was killing her as her hangover set in. She never had been particularly good at drinking. It was just something to do to while away time.

Hermione pushed her hair out of her eyes, sagging into a chair as the breakfast stream ended. She had at least half an hour before the early luncher's flooded in. However, apparently Mr. Bletchly had considered this half hour to be his chance and she had been forced to listen to what he considered flirting as she ate her own brunch, consisting of a solitary hard boiled egg and a burnt piece of toast. It was for the food that Hermione worked here, not the money since that went directly to the rent. She could scrounge left overs and keep herself out of starvation.

She breathed a sigh of relief when the first customer entered ten minutes earlier than she had hoped and Mr. Blatchly was forced to scurry back to the kitchen. She happily took the man's order and ignored the pain when his son trampled on her toes. Hermione almost felt her hair becoming greasier and greasier as she traversed from the kitchen to the dining area, plates piled on her hands and arms.

Towards the end of the lunch period she almost dropped them all as a man with shocking red hair wandered in to be greeted by a girl who reminded her of Lavendar Brown so much that she felt bile rise in her throat. Luckily, the young man'sresemblence was only in the hair and she was able to regain her composure and wits enough to wait tables.

It was on the way home that she'd gotten a real shock. A drunk beggar had pressed her against a wall, reeking of spirits. It was one of the few moments she wished she hadn't left her wand, as well as all other magical items, behind her when she had left her old life. It was too easily traced and she'd wanted Ron to be guilty, never knowing how she was or even if she was still alive. Her revenge was long drawn out and difficult, but she was set on it. She'd been living like this for too long to give up now.

She winced as his toothless mouth loomed a few inches away from her face, his hands on her arms. His breath stank, not only of alcohol but of cigarettes and a smell Hermione recognized from the council estates corners. Even so, she had had to shut her eyes to push the man away. He'd looked about eighty and despite her new life she was not accustomed to hurting old men, especially those who bore a slight, very slight, resemblance to dead professors, now departed.

Hermione had gotten away of course, the man was so drunk he could barely stand, but that hadn't stopped her running the rest of the way home. She had broken a heel in a grate as she crossed the road and in a moment of frustration snapped the other as well. The sky which had started out as white with tiny patches of blue was now a deepening gloomy grey.

Hermione entered the council estate quickly, a harsh wind blowing and whipping her hair against her face. She clung to her name pin absurdly, as if the flimsy plastic was her dearest possession in the world. It scared her just how close it was to that.As she darted inside her block of flats the grey clouds overhead opened and rain started bucketing down, making the gum covered pavement turn sleekly black. She climbed the stairs to her flat slowly, dragging her feet behind her. Despite her run to get to her home, she despised every inch of it and was always reluctant to return to it, unwilling to believe this was what she had reduced herself to.She felt morose, her hangover still desperately trying to cling to her mind. Hermione was weary and simply sick of it all.

However, the moment she entered her flat she knew something was wrong. The TV was still broken, the dishes were still stacked in the sink, congealed food stuck to them like leeches. In a few moments she found it. Her bedroom door, the only proper door in the whole flat,was closed. Hermione knew she was not the one who closed it, never really being bothered enough.

She moved quietly through her flat, taking up a piece of piping that had fallen out of a cupboard when she first moved in and had never been touched. Having ascertained that no one was in her kitchen or bathroom she moved slowly to the flimsy door with its chipped white paint stained with nicotine and opened it, piping in hand.

Sitting on her bed was Ronald Weasley,stroking what appeared to be an older, fatter, Crookshanks. Both looked up upon her entry, two pairs of eyes staring at her. However, this sight was only visible for a moment as Hermione slammed the door, her eyes wide before running out of the flat, down the stairs and out into the rain. Her head hurt, her heart ached, her limbs felt heavy as lead as she dragged herself across the council estate. Her shoulders shook, though whether from the cold of the fear she didn't know. She noticed that her hand was still clenched around the piping, knuckles turning white. She dropped it and it clanged loudly on the cement, forcing her to a stop.

Hermione felt stupid and foolish. She didn't know the facts and it made her feel afraid. How had he found her? Why was he here? All she knew was that a few moments later she could hear her name being bellowed through the rain. She turned slightly and saw the mop of red hair turn darker as it was soaked. Tears stung her eyes as she staggered backwards, trying to avoid what she knew was coming. Arms encircled her and red fur brushed at her ankles affectionately as Ron and Crookshanks caught up with her. Hermione surrendered as a hand smoothed her hair, resting on Ron, sobbing as all three of them were soaked through.

It may have been moments or minutes later when Hermione pulled away. Ron tried to speak but she shook her head.

She took a deep breath.

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For millions of years, In millions of homes

A man loved a woman, A child it was born

It learned how to hurt and it learned how to cry

Like Humans Do

I'm breathing in

I'm breathing out

So slip inside this funky house

Dishes in the sink

The TV's in repair

Don't look at the floor

Don't go up the stairs

I'm achin'

I'm shakin'

I'm breakin'

Like Humans Do

I work & I sleep & I dance & I'm dead

I'm eatin, I'm laughin & I'm lovin myself

I never watch TV except when I'm stoned

Like Humans Do

I'm breathing in

I'm breathing out

So slip inside this funky house

Dishes in the sink

The TV's in repair

Don't look at the floor

Don't go up the stairs

I'm achin'

I'm shakin'

I'm breakin'

Like Humans Do

I'm breathing in

I'm breathing out

So slip Inside this funky house

Wiggle while you work

Anybody can

The rain is pourin in on a woman & a man

I'm achin'

I'm shakin'

I'm breakin'

Like Humans Do

I'm breathing in

I'm breathing out.

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Crappy? Bad ending?Pointless? I won't know unless you press the purple button! Cheers.


	2. Missing You

Wow, I can't believe I'm updating this soon, utterly out of character for me. This was destined to be a one shotter, but since you all asked for more, I decided I'd better at least try to produce something extra. I actually got reviews! Whoop! I mean, yes. So, this chapter is dedicated to Krissy, my new beta and fellow Lupin lover. I apologise for the lame title, it was all I could think of. I blame today's society. But look, it rhymes!

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**Chapter 2- Missing You**

Hermione tossed and turned, the elderly mattress creaking and groaning, the springs threatening to push out of the fabric of their bindings. The thin covers stuck to her skin which was covered in an unpleasant sheen of sweat. Her hair was damp, wisps glued to her forehead. Her breath came in short, sharp pants as her hands curled into fists. Caught in the middle of a nightmare, Hermione was oblivious to all around her.

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"Hermione!" Harry's voice arrested attention and she stopped and swiveled towards him, beaming. In her hand she held a glass of champagne and over the murmuring voices she could hear the enchanted instruments playing Bach. Her hair was up, tied in a French knot. Thank Merlin for charms or she would have never managed to make it to the party.

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked. Harry appeared to be a little nervous, his eyes flicking away from her every few seconds. She frowned a little, tilting her head to one side and looking at him strangely. "Are you alright?"

"What? Oh, of course, why wouldn't I be?" Harry said, smiling slightly, but it did not reach his eyes. "I, uh, I just wanted you to meet, uh-" He searched for a name for a moment before deciding. "Ben Ashcroft. Have you met him yet? Really nice guy, that Ben is, you know, really-"

Hermione cut him off. "Harry, I introduced you to Ben about half an hour ago. We work in the same department, remember? Harry, is something going on?" She smiled slyly. "Is there something you don't want me to see? How bad can it be?" She tried to peer around him but he stayed firm.

"Hermione, I really don't thing you shou-" Harry stopped speaking as he was jostled and pushed out of Hermione's line of sight. Hermione gazed on, her expression changing minutely. From laughter to shock, the colour draining from her face, to sadness to anger. For sitting at the table Hermione had vacated only five minutes previously to freshen up, was Lavender Brown in a shocking pink robe. Not only that but she was seated next to Ronald Weasley who had his arms around her and his tongue down her throat.

She could only have stood there watching for a moment but it felt like an eternity. The Bach was still playing but the notes sounded distorted and disrupted. She could see everything with perfect clarity from the way Lavender's robe kept changing to the way the back of Ron's neck was turning pink. She could hear robes rustling around her, their robes moving against each other. Acid burnt her mouth, stinging her eyes with tears. It all smelt like plastic burning, destructive and acrid.

Harry merely watched helplessly as Hermione dropped her glass, turning and fleeing. The red silk of her robed gathered round her, billowing in the speed of her run. Her heels clacked loudly on the floor, almost matching the racing heartbeat she heard in her ears. She clattered down the white marble steps to the wide golden doors of the function room only to fall helplessly into darkness as she pushed through.

Devil's snare, its tendrils cold and clammy, curled around her ankles as she landed in a heap. It crept its way up her legs like a cruel seducer, closing in on her slowly, turning her green. It moved painstakingly slowly and yet she could not fight it as it pulled her down, choking her with vines so thin a toddler could have snapped them. A voice cried out over the slithering of the vines one clear phrase.

"ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?"

"I don't know," was Hermione's pitiful answer, her voice small but cracking with confusion and unexpected sorrow. Then green enveloped her and all she could hear was Lavender Brown's poisonous laughter screeching in her ears like some demented bat.

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Hermione sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for breath, her hands reaching out instinctively for anything to cling to, to prove herself she was awake, that she wasn't ensnared. A cool, damp cloth was pressed to her forehead and a familiar, calming voice whispered comforting nothings as they laid her back on her bed. She smiled slightly, her eyes drifting closed. She felt like a little girl again, being tucked up in her Smurf patterned bed by her father.

As she rested her head back upon the pillow her door opened, sending a shaft of light slicing the room in two and forcing her eyes open. By this new light she could see that none other than Ron Weasley was pressing the aforementioned cloth to her forehead and that standing in the doorway was none other then Harry Potter, the boy, or rather man, that lived. She practically sprang out of bed to greet him, aided by a spring that had grown tired of it's mattress prison and had broken free to poke her quite viciously in the small of the back.

Hermione flung her arms around her best friend, thoroughly regretting the years she had spent without contacting him. He in return had wrapped his arms around her, smiling slightly, his green eyes twinkling. "Glad to see you're up, Hermione," he said quietly, chuckling slightly. "You gave us quite a scare, I'll have you know." He released her gently and flicked on the light switch, only to find the bulb had gone. He quietly muttered, "lumos," as he led Hermione back to sit on the bed.

"Us?" she asked, frowning, having temporarily forgotten all about Ron, who had taken a seat in a darkened corner of the room. He coughed a little, reminding Hermione of his presence, but otherwise remained silent, unwilling to engage in conversation with her. "Why were you worried? It was just a nightmare," Hermione reasoned, leaning back against the wall behind her bed. Her face shone eerily in the wand light, the bags under her eyes and the paleness of her skin clearly visible.

"Hermione, you've been asleep for at least thirty-six hours," Harry said gently. "You only just got over the fever and you haven't been responding to either of us. Don't you remember? You collapsed in the rain just as Ron caught up with you. What have you been doing to yourself?" Hermione could see he was peering anxiously at her through those trademark glasses of his and she looked down, embarrassed and ashamed. Ron took this opportunity to shuffle out of the room.

"I don't remember any of this. Thirty-six hours? Oh, fuck, I've missed work. Mr Bletchly will- What are you looking at me like that for?" Hermione asked, frowning and folding her arms defensively. Harry was staring at her with his mouth hanging open, a look of disbelief on his face. Very slowly he began to laugh, growing louder and louder until Hermione imagined half of China could hear him.

When he finally recovered he sputtered out, "Hermione, you are unbelievable. You wake up and the first thing you think about is how you've missed work. It's like second year all over again. And where on earth did you learn that word, let alone how to use it constructively in a sentence?" Harry's face broke into a grin. "Same old Hermione."

Hermione, who had been blushing at her own use of a swear word suddenly looked up at him, her brown eyes brimming with tears. Harry's arms enveloped her even before she began to sob out apologies. She nuzzled her head into his shoulder, the familiar and comforting prickling wool only made her cry harder as she thought of Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys, for it was undoubtedly a Weasley jumper. Molly just seemed to be able to knit the feeling of home and family into her jumpers, without charm work. Hermione had always said she should market them and make a killing.

She forced herself to stop, reminding herself that there would be plenty of time for tears later. Now she just needed to get her facts in order so as to be able to see where she was going and all possible routes to that point. "So, um, how did you find me? I thought I had everything covered. I made myself unplottable before I left." Hermione frowned, pushing her hair off her still feverish face and concentrating, her brows knitting together as though she was merely focusing on a particularly difficult Arithmancy problem rather than an event that would most likely change her life.

"It was really simple in the end. Ron thought of it a few nights back. He was sitting down and then stood up so fast he hit his head on the lamp. I don't know why we didn't think of it sooner. We sent Crookshanks after you. Well, we had to go to Molly's to pick him up first of course." Harry grinned sheepishly. "I really don't know why we didn't think of it. Our minds must be slipping."

A very proud and sly cat slunk into the room as Harry spoke, settling his very ginger self into her lap, curling up as if the years had flown by like seconds. Hermione's hand automatically went to stroke him, fondling him behind his ears affectionately. If felt good to have that familiar purring warmth with her once more. "After all that, outsmarted by a cat. I've missed you, puss," she murmured softly, tears stinging her eyes once more.

Harry looked affronted, folding his arms in mock indignation and this farce had the desired affect. Hermione blinked away her tears and giggled. "I missed you two, Harry. And Ginny, and Arthur and Molly and the twins, and Tonks, and Lupin! How is Lupin? I missed them all so much, Moody and Minerva included." One name had not been mentioned and both she and Harry knew it. "And-"

"Tea?" Ron's voice cut her off gruffly as he offered her the steaming cup. She noticed with some guilt that he had obviously cleaned and repaired the cup since she knew full well that there was not an unchipped piece of crockery in her flat and probably not one in the entire block. With some horror she realised that he probably just heard the painfully conspicuous absence of his own name. Hermione couldn't bring herself to even look at his face as she accepted the cup silently. As soon as the cup was steady in her hands, the red head strode back to the door and left the room. A muffled bang a few second later informed the pair still remaining in the flat that Ron had now left.

Harry looked towards the door for a while, as though debating whether to stay or go. Eventually he appeared to have decided Hermione's need of him was greater and turned back to her, a concerned and worried look upon his bespectacled face.

Hermione felt awful. Although her head reasoned that really, it was all his fault to begin with, that it was Ron who had kissed Lavender and not the other way around, she knew that she should at least be civil. She could have said thank you. She could have said she missed him. She had missed him. She'd hated him regularly, usually after bouts of drinking, but she'd missed him more. She hated admitting that, even to herself. Even so, she could have said she missed him a little. An overwhelming feeling of guilt settled over her like a cloud.

"I just hope he doesn't use the lift," Hermione whispered. At Harry's look she explained in a slightly raised voice. "It always gets stuck halfway down, between floors. Not a pleasant experience. And he's never been good with muggle equipment." Her voice was strained and sounded as if it could crack at any moment, wavering. She shook her head forcefully, brown hair hitting her own face. "Forget it. How is Lupin?"

"He's great," Harry replied, still looking anxiously at both Hermione and the door that Ron had just departed through. "He and Tonks have had a little girl, Alpharia Kristina Andromeda-" Harry paused and then continued, "Hermione Lupin. They wanted to remember you." He smiled slightly.

Hermione smiled, though she felt tempted to cry. "That's so kind of them. Of all the names in the world, they chose mine."

"No. Of all the people in the world, they chose you."

"Oh, Harry. And I take it Crookshanks has been living with the Weasleys? He'd like it there, he fits in with the colour scheme. Though Ron never did like him mu-" All of a sudden everything became just too much for Hermione. She slumped forwards, startling Crookshanks off her lap as Harry wrapped her in a hug again. Ron finding her, her own self imposed exile, Harry's news, Ron's departure, even having her faithful cat back in her arms felt too much. She curled up, sobbing into Harry's chest for the second time that night and blaming Ronald Weasley for it all.

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Please do press the little purple button. It makes me very happy! Also, reviews more chapters.

Also, a cookie for the person who identifies where all of Alpharia's names come from.

Thankies!


	3. Engagement

I can't believe I'm updating again so soon.It's all Krissy's fault, I tell you that. Anyhoo, since nobody got my puzzler quesion it will have to remain a mystery fover. How sad. Oh and eaglesnest, while this doesn't answer everything you asked, it's a little snippet of what's to come. Or what's already come. Whaetver. On with the chapter!

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**Chapter 3- Engagement**

It was about one in the morning when Hermione finally pushed away from Harry, her eyes red and bloodshot, sniffing loudly. She smiled wanly as Harry gently fanned the large wet patch on his shirt caused by her tears. "Sorry about that," Hermione muttered, biting her now slightly raw lip. "I must look a right mess now, hey?" Her hands went to her hair, trying to make it neat and orderly. If she left it for too long it would become a positive rats nest and would take hours to comb out. She slipped off the bed and moved to the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Just as the bathroom door's lock fell off into Hermione's hand, rusted and worn, the front door of her flat burst open and through the door way Came the one and only Mrs Molly Weasley. She practically flew into the bedroom and over to Harry. Through the flat's wafer thin walls Hermione heard every word as Molly launched into one of her famous tirades.

"Harry! What on earth are you doing here? Ginny's been worried sick about you, disappearing for days! She says you simply left her after you got that owl with not a word about where you were going or how you were going to get there! NOTHING! You may well be the saviour of wizard kind but you do not treat my daughter like that! And then I find you in some grotty little flat in London! What would poor Ginny think if she found you here? You and Ron, gallivanting off and following up some false lead, raising and dashing our hopes time and time again! Where IS Ronald anyway? You didn't let him go out drinking, did you? Honestly Harry, you know how glum he gets when he can't find her! He won't be able to get out of bed for days after this-"

Hermione couldn't help noticing that Mrs Weasley, who was normally so polite and courteous to Harry, appeared to be acting as though he was one of her sons. Not that Hermione minded of course, but she wondered what had come about to cause the change. Perhaps it was merely the worry about both Ginny and Harry that Molly kept stressing, but Hermione suspected more than that.

"But Molly-"

"Harry, I believe I was speaking. Where was I? Oh yes, how could you let him go out drinking, Harry? Really you should know better by now. If you want to become a member of this family then you better start looking out for your future brothers-"

"But Molly!" Harry tried to interject again. Hermione by this time was opening the door, peering out with wide brown eyes. Future brothers? Of course, Harry and Ginny. That must have been why Mrs Weasley treated him like one of her own. She sighed as she realised just how much she'd been missing out on. As she watched, Mrs Weasley appeared to be swelling with rage as her knuckles turned white and her fingers red. Harry seemed tiny in comparison, skinny and pale, almost cowering under Mrs Weasley.

"Be QUIET Harry. You have no idea of the stress and torment you have put both Ginny and myself through. Three days without contact. We thought a renegade had caught you, that you were lying in some ditch, all mangled and bloody-"

"MOLLY!" Harry roared, eyes blazing. Mrs Weasley seemed to quieten a little, shocked by Harry's outburst.

"What is it, Harry, dear?" she asked, her demeanor returning to normal as she calmed down. The flushed red hue of her face paled back into the pleasant pink that accompanied her good moods. Her hand went to her still gloriously red hair, plumping it gently.

Hermione gave a small cough as she stepped out from the open bathroom doorway. Molly Weasley whipped round, her wand raised defensively before she recognized the skinny, pale girl before her. A dawning expression reached her face as her eyes widened, her mouth in a half open sort of smile, partially covered by the hand that covered it in shock. Hermione had known that no one had ever been able to rival Mrs Weasley's hugs, but even so she was slightly shocked as the woman's arms surrounded her. Mrs Weasley smelt of baking and wood fires and everything so homey and familiar that Hermione wished she could stay there forever. Metaphorically of course. Hermione knew logically that remaining in Mrs Weasley's hug for the rest of her life could become awkward and very smelly.

"Hermione...Hermione!" Mrs Weasley seemed at a loss for words as she gazed at the girl she had last seen five years ago, the girl she had hoped she could one day call her daughter. "I can't believe it's really you. I never thought I d see you again, not if I lived a hundred years. I thought you were-" Molly stopped, ashamed and looked at her feet. "But never mind that. My dear, why have you been hiding form us? If you thought I was worried about Harry going missing for three days... Well. Five years is such a long time to have no contact." Hermione was horrified to see tears in Mrs Weasley's eyes. "I knitted you a jumper every Christmas and birthday, hoping I'd be able to send it to you. Oh, my dear, it's just so good to see you again. Why did you ever leave us?"

Hermione looked down. She didn't want to answer Molly, didn't want to tell her that it was her youngest son that had driven her to flee the wizarding world. She knew that Molly must know in part or even whole the reason for her departure but to say it out loud to his own mother, to disgrace him so in his family's eyes was too much for Hermione. She shook her head dumbly, shrugging.

Molly nodded and led the girl into the living room, seating her on the sofa. "I expect I know the reason, don't I? And believe me, we all support you in this matter, not him. However, in the end, he is family, we had to take him back in the end. Cup of tea?" she offered, bustling in the kitchen end of the room, flicking her wand to clean it. Soon the air was full of the sounds of pots and pans scrubbing themselves as Molly busied herself with the kettle. "You'd think after all these years living with Arthur I would at least know how to boil a muggle kettle," she joked, beckoning Harry to help her. He obliged quickly, filling the kettle and setting it to boil.

A loud crack sounded throughout the whole block of flats as another of the Weasley women apparated into the flat. "MUM! I told you not to chase after Harry, didn't I? I trust him. I can't believe you'd do this. Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is for me? Harry must think I don't trust him- hey Harry- I mean, really Mum, can't you think before you fly off in a rage?" Ginny threw herself down onto the sofa, only to find it was already occupied. Hermione extricated herself form the piece of furniture with a slight squeak.

"Sorry," Ginny muttered, glancing up briefly, assuming she'd sat on one of her brothers. Hermione frowned for a few seconds as Ginny looked at her knees. Hadn't Ginny seen her? Was she blind? Was she- Mid thought, Hermione found herself having the life squeezed out of her as it suddenly all clicked in Ginny's mind. "OH MERLIN! HERMIONE!"

'Well,' Hermione thought, smiling slightly, 'at least some wizards in New Zealand don't know I'm alive'. She chuckled slightly before it became too hard to breathe and Ginny was force to release her. Hermione fell back onto the brown, grimy sofa that groaned as she landed on it, ancient springs protesting at this sudden use.

"I can't believe it's really you. Wait, it is really her, right?" Hermione sighed as Ginny glanced towards Harry anxiously, who smiled reassuringly at both of them. "Ok, so you are Hermione. Great! Where have you been all these years?" she asked. Hermione vaguely gestured to the flat, shrugging. "Oh. How come it's taken this long to find you? You're barely a street away from the Ministry." Hermione shrugged again and Harry looked sheepish.

"We, sort of, kind of, maybe, didn't look here before," Harry admitted, scratching the back of his head and shrugging. "It seemed sort of stupid. We never dreamed she'd turn up in London. We assumed she'd be out in the countryside, or a different country, never right under our noses." Harry grinned. "Guess we should have known you'd be so audacious. It's the Gryffindor courage that does it."

Hermione fidgeted, her fingers knotting together painfully as she tried to avoid the subject. "So, um, Harry, I take it you and Ginny are, um, engaged then?" she asked tentatively, not wanting to say the wrong thing and undermine their relationship. A few seconds later she was reassured as Ginny beamed at her, her smile practically becoming a source of light.

"We've been engaged since last Christmas. Harry, go into the other room, I'm about to become gushy," Ginny ordered, waving her hand imperiously. "It won't work if you're standing there like some gormless idiot." Hermione giggled, Ginny's euphoria rubbing off a little onto herself. She could hardly believe that Harry had finally plucked up the courage to ask her. Heck, he'd been planning to do it when she'd left, and that was five years ago.

Harry swept a low bow to Ginny, kissing her hand. "As you command, my lady love," he murmured, retiring to the bedroom. Hermione's stomach did an entirely unpleasant belly flop inside her and she curled up slightly as she recalled similar words said to her by a certain gangly red headed Weasley. Ginny's face fell as she noticed Hermione's discomfort and Mrs Weasley poured the tea into a cup silently before joining Harry to have a good long chat on how not to worry Ginny or he'd regret it.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, I forgot. If you don't want me to talk abo-"

Hermione cut her off as she reached for the tea. "Nonsense. Tell me all about it. Don't leave a single detail out. It was last Christmas then?" Hermione couldn't help recollecting her own Christmas. Working a double shift at the cafe, having Mr Bletchly half drunk and leering at her obscenely and at the end of the day having her Christmas Bonus stolen by some two by four thug on the estate. Not so very merry as the old wizarding Christmases she had enjoyed before.

"It was at Rowena's Creek, you know, Lupin and Tonks' place. They were having a Christmas dinner and it started snowing. Harry took me outside to look at it and I distinctly remember my nose had turned red from the cold. Then I, being the clumsy fool I am, slipped over and when he gave me a hand to help me up, he just pressed the box into my hand, just like that, I swear. He looked all sweet and nervous when I opened it. It was a little unorthodox, but so perfect." Ginny sighed and Hermione smiled happily at the younger woman.

"You two were always meant for each other. Harry was just too stupid too see it for himself." A muffled 'Hey!' sounded from the bedroom but Hermione ignored it. "So, um, are you getting married soon, or is it a long engagement?" Hermione asked lightly, leaning forward. She couldn't believe she'd missed out on all of this just to get back at a stupid boy with stupid hair and a stupid- Hermione stopped herself. That was just petty and made herself seem stupid.

Ginny smiled. "In the summer. Oh!" She stood up, feet skipping along the filthy carpet stained with coffee, wine and God only knows what else. "You have to be my maid of honour, really. I mean really. Please? Please?" Ginny fell to her knees, puppy dog eyeing for all she was worth. Hermione laughed and nodded, her smile finally reaching her eyes. And to think, just a few days ago she had been denying that all this existed. She had slipped so easily back into the wizarding world.

Ginny squealed and pulled Hermione up off the couch and into another bone-crushing hug. "You have no idea how much this means. Harry! Hermione's going to be my Maid of Honour!" Molly and Harry rushed out of the bedroom eagerly, grins plastered over their faces. However, their celebrations were cut short by a loud rapping on the door.

Hermione opened it tentatively. Through the door way staggered Remus and Nymphadora Lupin, supporting between them bedraggled heap of clothes and wet, red hair. They carefully laid him on the sofa, not noticing Hermione, who remained behind the door, watching aghast.

"Ron! What happened Remus? Where did you find him?" Mrs Weasley shrieked, bending toward her son, her face pale as she pushed hi hair out of his eyes, revealing a nasty crack on his forehead. "Who did this to him? I swear when I find them they'll wish they'd never seen the likes of me! Curses won't be in it! When I find the little mangy sod who did this to my son I'll-"

"Easy, Molly," Remus interjected tiredly. "Ron will be fine. That cut is already healing nicely, thanks to Tonks' charm work. He just needs some rest. What are you four all doing in this area any way? This doesn't really seem your kind of place at all. Very grungy." Hermione examined him. Despite the five years since she'd last seen him, Remus looked far younger. Probably thanks to Tonks she reasoned, watching as his wife took his hand comfortingly. She shut the door, causing the pair to swivel round.

"Hello."

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Ooooooh, small cliffie- Actually, it's so small I could jump off it and not even hurt a toe. Oh well. Press the purple button.

Thankies!


	4. The Demise of Miss Brown

Well, here we are again. After five months I was teaching my father about the internet and I suddenly came across this story again and went 'Oh, right, I meant to write a bit more of that didn't I?' So, here it is. Thank you everyone who reviewed, I hope you haven't given up hope. I'm still alive. I'll try and write some more soon. Shout out to Krissy again, and to Davina and Salome (don't kill me for mentioning you if you ever read this) for doing what I can only imagine…NaNoWriMo. Anyway, enough of my babbling. On with the chapter!

**Chapter Four- The Demise of Miss Brown**

"Hermione! Well, Merlin be praised, I never would have dreamed that we would have found you _here_." Lupin ran a hand through his hair, his expression one of pure shock and surprise. His mouth hung open slightly, his eyes wide as a hundred dozen questions raced through his head. Hermione watched him cautiously. She had always valued her old professor's opinion of her and hoped it was not going to change for the worse.

"Remus, as surprising as I know Hermione's appearance is, I believe my son is in desperate need of attention," Molly said suddenly, snapping Lupin out of his trance. Her voice was rising with growing hysteria as she felt her son's forehead, the cut upon it refusing to close and still bleeding fast. "I thought you said you charmed it. It won't heal, just look at it!" Molly's voice was reaching levels only bats could hear as she continued to worry about her youngest son.

Hermione suddenly became aware of the amount of people there currently were in her miniscule apartment. Remus and Tonks, Molly and Ginny, Harry and herself, not to mention Ron lying unconscious on the sofa. It was just too much for her to cope with. After so many years of no contact with these people here they all were, flocking around her. She placed a hand to her head, squeezing her eyes shut, barely able to keep track of the conversation. A babble surrounded her, too many voices all talking at once. Something about St Mungos, and Ron and-

"Hermione? Are you quite alright. I think you'd better come with us." Ginny's quiet but somehow penetrating voice broke through the babble. As Hermione opened her eyes she saw that Ron had been moved off the sofa and was being floated by Tonks out of her apartment with Lupin and Molly following close behind, anxiously peering at her son's pale face. Hermione herself was being mainly supported by Harry whilst Ginny fanned her gently.

Harry's voice, a little fuzzier than usual muttered something about the fever she'd had and Saint Mungos and healers before Hermione lost track and her head drooped forwards as she fainted dead away.

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When Hermione awoke it was to find herself in a private ward in Saint Mungos. The lights were dim and provided relaxing shimmery patterns on the walls which Hermione absentmindedly found herself watching, her eyes still barely open. A chair stood at the right side of the bed and a large mirror hung on the left wall beside the window which was covered by a white blind. Aside from the Pepper-Up potion sitting on her bedside table, Hermione could have been in a Muggle hospital. The pillows below her head were softer than any she'd had in years.

Just as she was about to fall back into a deep sleep a click sounded from the door. Hermione sat bolt upright, realising with a shock that someone had been in the room only moments before. She looked around for a clue as to who would leave just when she was on the verge of waking up but found none. "Who the fuck WAS that?" she asked, frustrated as she adjusted the pillows behind her back.

"Well dear, that's not a very polite way of asking, but since you've been asleep for the past two days I suppose you're not in the right mood for manners."

Hermione whirled round on the mirror, rather a nice one with a slightly tarnished no-nonsense frame. "You saw who it was?" she asked urgently, hopefully. She had some idea and yet couldn't decide if she wanted it to be who she suspected it was or not.

"Why yes, dear, it was that nice young man," the mirror replied with a sense of motherly affection. "Poor boy, he was so worried about you. Saying it was all his fault, as much as the other young man tried to persuade him otherwise. And bless me if he didn't threaten to curse those Healers when they told him to return to his room."

"Room? You mean that it was-," No, it couldn't be. It didn't make any sense. Wait, maybe it did. But she didn't want it too, did she? Hermione shook her head decisively, trying to clear it of hopes and doubts alike. "It can't have been Ro-"

"Hermione?" Interrupted by her own name, Hermione jumped and turned, startled, to the door way. Harry had his head poked round the door and was grinning at the sight of her fully awake and healthy. "I see you're up. Again. Two collapses in- well, in two of your days, three of ours. How are you?"

What a question, Hermione thought to herself gently, a thought that probably showed on her face given Harry's apologetic smile some moments later. Taking a deep breath, she summed up what she felt, leaving out a small part in reference to a certain red head. "I'm in a wizarding hospital, having been hiding from the wizarding world for five years. My head hurt, I have no idea what happened in the past five years for all my friends and my hair's gone bushy again. Need I say more? Never been better in the past five years."

Harry grinned at her, settling in the chair beside her. "I've been commanded by my beloved to provide you with anything you require. I am quite willing to fetch fruit or firewhisky, whichever you prefer."

Hermione sighed, resting back against permanently plumped pillows. Her eyes drifted shut slowly. "Tell me what happened. Afterwards, I mean. I want to know."

Harry frowned slightly and then began. "Well, for a start, there was silent uproar. The music stopped, people were quiet as the grave. It took Ron several moments to realise, mainly because that _cow_ was too busy sucking off his face to let him go. But when he did- Merlin, Hermione, it was frightening. He looked dead, no colour, I swear even his hair was gre-"

"I don't want to hear about Ron!" Hermione snapped, immediately regretting it as she saw Harry's face fall. "I'm sorry, Harry. Really, I am. I just need all the reasons I can have to hate him. If I can't hate him, then I'll, I'll- I can't do that again, Harry, I can't."

"I understand, believe it or not. So, no mention of R. Weasley. How about the gruesome tale of the grisly, public destruction of Lavender Brown?" Hermione's vicious but probably justified smile told him all he needed to know.

"Our story begins in the society pages of the Daily Prophet. Needless to say, they are almost entirely devoted to the events of the Christmas Party for the ministry and the subsequent disappearance of Hermione Granger. Lavender Brown is only fleetingly mentioned except in the column of one Rita Skeeter, where her character is cruelly dissected to reveal the malevolent, manipulative snake that lies within."

"Wait, Rita stood up for me?" Hermione was ever so slightly puzzled. She'd always imagined that Rita Skeeter had never forgiven her for trapping her in a jar and threatening to black mail her. It just didn't seem like a thing that would be done.

"She really does respect you. She doesn't like you that much, but she respects your intelligence and you yourself. Now, no more interruptions. Rita Skeeter denounces Lavender Brown, but Lavender merely shrugs it off, enjoying her moment of fame, or infamy. Rita's columns continue, with at least one every week commenting of Miss Brown's appalling behaviour, which has no effect on Miss Brown. Then she makes her mistake. Six months into the New Year, Miss Brown holds a dinner party, probably in an attempt to make everyone forget your disappearance. He-who-must-not-be-named-but-is-not-Voldie is invited and is forced to sit next to her. The party is entirely fore his benefit, as is Miss Brown's outfit."

A slightly possessive growl rose in Hermione's throat, something which both shocked and confused her still further.

"Halfway through she murmurs to R- to Mr Weasley something along the lines of, "I know I have to make out I wish what happened at Christmas hadn't, but really, I'm quite glad. If not, you'd still be miserable with that Granger girl and we wouldn't have this chance to try again. We were always so _good _together." Not very subtle. Need-"

"That bitch!" Hermione's outburst was not only to do with Lavender's promiscuity but also her own pride. How dare that idiotic woman, whose school days had been full of merely boys and mystic balls, try to forget Hermione is so short a time and to make advances on a man who should at that time be wracked with guilt and regrets? The nerve of her!

"I said no interruptions, but I do wholeheartedly agree. Anyhow, needless to say, Mr Weasley stands up without a word and leaves. Miss Lavender Brown laughs it off, claiming he had a headache. However, she is not so amused when the next day her comments are blazoned across the front page. She confronts Mr Weasley who declares that, as a man of honour he did not tell the press but that it is what she thoroughly deserves. It turns out a small beetle was sitting on her shoulder all the time she was speaking. Your friend Rita steps in to defend you again. I do hope you say thank you. Miss Brown's social standing plummets in one day. Searing articles are written by pretty much everyone. Only Parvati Finnegan remained neutral, not commenting at all in her column on any matter to do with Miss Brown. Lavender tries to regain her social standing in various ways. Flirting with a certain Bulgarian Quidditch star for example. I believe she assumed that if he liked you then... Well, it all came to nothing, or even less than that, with him publicly shunning her and refusing her advances and the Qudditch World Cup. Then unto Cormac Mclaggen, you might remember him, he's risen to the top of his game and she was spotted one night practically drooling over him, despite his wife and three young children! She claimed to have slept with him, which was proved false under secretly administered Veritaserum. It really was the last straw. Parvati turned on her, Mrs Finnegan having always been one for family values. Miss Brown leaves the country, possibly for France. Even now she is known as the woman who tried to emulate you and failed. Miserably."

Harry finished triumphantly and grinned as Hermione shook with laughter. "It's perfect... Absolutely perfect! Your narrative style is disgraceful, Harry, but it's perfect! And Parvati married Seamus? For some reason it doesn't surprise me but, oh- It's so perfect! Thank you, Harry- Oh; I don't suppose there are any newspaper cuttings?"

"Molly will bring round the album this afternoon."

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So there we have it folks. That's all for now I guess. Just review, tell me what you think about it and all that. I'm sorry I took so long and I'm sorry it's slightly shorter. I'll try to turn out something good for Christmas, I promise. So, press the purple button.

Thankies!


	5. Healing Processes

Here I am, back from the dead. Missing a few toes but otherwise the rotting process has been stopped quite well. Sorry for taking so long. Well, here it is. It's a bit less chatty and a bit more reflection-y than the last couple of chapters, but I felt it was needed to introduce Adam.

Enjoy!

**Chapter 5. Healing Processes**

It was a happier Hermione who, later that afternoon leafed through a large and very full album documenting Lavender Brown's journey from D-list IT Girl to barely tolerated shit girl. Mrs Weasley had certainly been dedicated in collecting every word that slurred Miss Brown, even underlining passages and adding 'Quite right toos' at the end of articles. Harry had been right. Rita Skeeter had been defending her throughout the whole ordeal. Hermione had half a mind to give the reporter an exclusive just to say thank you.

At the end of the heavy leather-bound book she found a few photographs of the woman, enchanted so that every time she touched her hair, it would drop off. Photographic Lavender was either bursting into tears or trying to hide at the edge of the photographs. Hermione had no doubt that it was the twins she had to thank for this diversion, and for the ministry toilet seat that had arrived immediately after Harry had left. Every so often it would stand up and dance, much to the amusement of the mirror that had been giggling for most of the afternoon.

Thus it was a happier Hermione who, at about three o'clock, was roused from dozing lightly by a rather good looking healer opening her door with a slight creak. She sat up slowly, wondering exactly what the correct etiquette was when introducing oneself when one was a patient. Obviously he must know who she was and surely it would seem idiotic to introduce herself formally, but she couldn't abruptly ask who he was without at least presenting some form of communication.

Communication had not been a big part of Hermione's muggle life. She had preferred not to talk to Mr Bletchly as that, she had learnt, generally ended with inappropriate remarks and gestures on his part and shame and disgust on hers. And really, a council estate was not the best place to introduce oneself formally, unless one really wanted to be stripped of all valuables, as most of the people who remained outside were either muggers or addicts, generally both.

Having struggled to find words for a few moments, during which she looked a little like a fish, Hermione settled for a feeble, "Hello."

The healer turned and beamed at her. He was quite tall, with sandy short hair that stuck up in a style that was clearly meant to look casual but probably took hours to achieve. His eyes were dark brown and his smile was certainly one of the whitest she had ever seen. His skin was tanned and when he spoke, she caught a definite South African accent.

"Miss Granger. Glad to see you're up. I'm Adam Farr, I'm here to make sure you don't die or anything." At Hermione's horrified look he immediately added, "Not that you're anywhere near death. Not even close. Figure of speech. Can you tell I'm new at this?"

"A little," Hermione laughed, her hand rising to try and smooth down her bushy bed hair as she realised with some embarrassment that she must look awful. She accepted the potion Healer Adam handed her and managed to drink it without wincing, though her eyes did flash bright magenta for a few moments and her voice left her. When it returned, she managed to croak out, "Spicy," before she gratefully accepted a glass of water.

"Sorry. Guess I should have warned you. It's the new Pepper-Up substitute. Ten times the kick apparently."

Hermione nodded, her eyes steaming, turning the room, and Adam, very blurry. When the room came back into focus, the healer was gone. Hermione cursed, causing her mirror to start another motherly lecture on language.

Before the mirror could really get started though, she was interrupted by yet another visitor. Or rather, two visitors. Looking up, Hermione saw her parents peering round the door to see if this really was their daughter. Mrs Granger appeared to be satisfied for she immediately rushed inside, hugged Hermione with all her might and burst into tears. Mr Granger too had eyes which seemed wetter than normal as he looked at the daughter he'd almost lost.

It took almost ten minutes for Mrs Granger to tell her daughter how much she had missed her, a narration that wasn't much helped by the fact that they were both sobbing. When Hermione mentioned where she had been staying, Mrs Ganger merely held her daughter all the harder, afraid to let her go.

The Grangers, it seemed, had been in constant communication with the Weasleys since Hermione's disappearance. This connection had been formed despite the fact that Ron, having gone to tell the Grangers of their daughter's disappearance, had been punched squarely in the nose. In fact, it had benefited from this, as it had cleared the air somewhat. Thus the two muggles had received all the information of Hermione that the wizards could get their hands on, which was precious little. The benefit was that the two dentists now understood a lot more of the wizarding world that had occupied so much of their daughter's life.

The Grangers stayed with their daughter for the next few hours, talking, hugging and showing their love for her, only leaving when she was plied with a sleeping draught by a worried Adam who insisted that she needed rest. Hermione went to sleep knowing her family was close at hand, a reassurance she had not had in five years. She slept very well that night.

Over the next few days, Hermione received visits from most of the wizarding world. Fred and George, in a follow up to the toilet seat act turned her into a canary for a few minutes which cheered her up no end. They mentioned fleetingly some 'accidents' that had befallen Miss Brown during the occasions when the twins had been in her presence which brought Hermione into fits of laughter.

Hagrid brought enough rock cakes to keep her in paperweights for decades, as well as a rather mysterious box that had barked at her until she hurriedly placed half her lunch inside it. Eventually she discovered it was a family of pygmy puffs and not some new hybrid which relieved her no end.

Ginny had tried to give Hermione the history of the past five years of the wizarding world in fifty minutes, something which even Hermione, with her brain for facts and dates, could not take in. Apparently either a lot had happened that was important or nothing important had happened. It was hard to make head or tail of Ginny's rushed and repetitive style which invariably came back to her engagement. Hermione didn't mind as she loved to hear the story over and over again.

Harry brought Fire whisky and Rita Skeeter with him and Hermione, having banished the Qwik Quotes Quill proceeded to promise Rita the biggest exclusive of her life. The bespectacled animagus had scheduled an appointment and was looking at the girl who had imprisoned her with something akin to respect. Harry had had to stuff himself with grapes to keep from laughing.

Charlie brought Chocolate Frogs whilst Fleur and Bill brought Butterbeer which was so incredibly like when she'd been in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts that she almost forgot where she was. She even received a visit from a sheepish Percy who informed her that he had reconciled with his family almost directly after her disappearance, saying "Mum could cope with one estranged son, but not two." In fact, Hermione received a visit from every member of the Weasley family.

Including Ron.

It was barely a visit really. Hermione had been dozing after lunch when the door opening dragged her back to the land of the living. She had assumed it was Adam coming to give her that horrifyingly spicy potion again, so it had been a surprise to open her eyes and find Ronald Weasley sitting beside her bed, looking, no, staring at her with an intensity in those familiar blue eyes that frightened Hermione. As soon as their eyes locked, Ron jerked back light he'd been shocked with a cattle prod, knocking the chair over as he sprang to his feet.

"I thought you were asleep," came the mumbled words, before he shut his mouth tightly and bolted in a flash of orange from the room. Hermione was left confused and alone in the room, and even the mirror couldn't aid her.

Fortunately, Adam's entry helped her to get her mind off of the strange occurrence. This time, with the potion, he brought a box of chocolates. He handed them over with an embarrassed sort of shrug and it took a few moments for Hermione to realise he had bought them himself. For her. In a boy-buys-girl-chocolates romantic sort of way.

"Um, Miss Granger-"

"Hermione, please." She smiled, trying to encourage him a little. He looked so nervous under his smiley, sun kissed façade.

"Um, ok. Um, Miss Granger, uh, I was wondering if, after you got out of here, you'd like to come for a drink with me? Or a meal? Or a meal, and a drink? I mean, not just one drink, of course. More than one. Though, not a binger or anything like that. Unless you wanted to binge, of course. And I'd pay."

"Oh, Adam, that would be-" She wanted to accept, but she was cut off.

"I mean, I know you're the famous Hermione Granger and I'm a lowly Healer, well, a promoted Healer, but still a nobody compared to you and-"

Famous? She was famous? She'd been well known in the war, she knew, but that was really mainly Harry and Ron. She'd been sidelined as 'the girl' quite a lot, but she hadn't really minded. Then she'd been a probably candidate for Minister for Magic, but that had fallen through when she'd left, and she'd never been called famous. It was all rather new and exhilarating.

"Adam-"

"I understand that you probably have lots of other, nicer men who are all vying for you and-"

"ADAM!" Hermione shouted, her voice reverberating off the walls as her mirror tut tutted disapprovingly at the loud noise.

"Miss Granger, you shouldn't shout, your throat is still sore from your fever." Adam instantly shifted from babbling fool to advising healer as he stopped and looked at her inquiringly. The change pleased Hermione as she was able to say an entire sentence without a single interruption.

"I'd be delighted to go out with you some time." And she would be. Adam was nice enough. He was friendly and funny and endearing and he certainly was handsome. He might not be the intellectual that Hermione was, but neither was… someone else she had dated. Even if it didn't go well it would be a good opportunity to get to know Adam better.

Not to mention the fact that Hermione really needed to get out. She hadn't had a date in five years, hadn't had a meal paid for by someone else, hadn't been kissed, at least, hadn't been kissed with her permission. Those were memories she didn't want to relive.

First dates were fun. There was awkwardness, but a good kind, a pleasant, amusing kind. There were deep conversations, accidental touches and not accidental touches. There were thrills, and there were lows, but it was all part of an experience. Hermione wanted to feel that again, to feel the rush, the happiness, the excitement of it all. And if it lead to something more…well, that would just be lovely.

Hermione ignored the fact that her final reason for accepting had rather a lot to do with the red head who had left her room only minutes before. She assured herself that accepting Adam was in no way a plan to snub and show Ron that she was over him. She promised herself that she was over Ron and that this wasn't some way of getting over him. Most of all, she tried to block out the thought that in some way she was trying to make Ron jealous. Ron didn't care and neither did she.

Adam, however, was grinning his head off and looked like he was about to jump up and down in excitement. He may have been in his late twenties, but right then he looked so much like a hyperactive eight year old that Hermione couldn't help giggling like a young child herself. Even when she drank her potion, the smile didn't leave her face.

Outside her room, Ron Weasley paused, his hand on the door handle. He was going to apologise for barging in, for disturbing her, for kissing Lavender, for the Godforsaken last five years, but then,

"I'd be delighted to go out with you some time," reached his ears. He stopped, turned, stopped himself from putting his fist through the wall and walked dejectedly down the corridor. Bugger it all.

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Well, that's it for this one. Review please! Feedback appreciated.


	6. First Inklings

Err, so it's been a while. A year. An a half. But hey! Ok, so I don't think this is any good, and it's probably full of inconsistencies, but I tried. Maybe you could try reading it?

--

As soon as Adam left, ostensibly to see to other patients but, in truth, to go spread the word amongst his fellow healers, Hermione's mirror started up again. "Well, I must say-"

"Must you? Must you really?" Hermione wearily asked, dreading the unwanted matronly advice that was sure to issue from the bright surface. Already the mirror was showing far too much of an unwanted interest in Hermione's life and she was getting sick of its constant reminders and corrections. Years alone and upset, wallowing in her own anger and self pity had left her with little appetite for criticism and no indulgence for advice. Were it not for her own self restraint, the mirror would probably be in pieces already.

"Yes dear, and really, you should listen to your elders and betters. Youth today, really! AS I was saying, that was rather quick off the mark, wouldn't you say? Hardly back in society and already gallivanting off with a young lad you barely know." The mirror tutted disapprovingly and Hermione could have sworn it shifted on the wall to make itself more comfortable. It certainly seemed to be facing her more than it had previously.

"There's absolutely nothing wrong with Adam!" she retorted, wondering for a moment why she was arguing with what should have been an inanimate object and, for the past five years, had been thought of as one.

"He's not British." Great, that was just Hermione's luck to be landed in the room with the racist mirror. "And he had the presumption to proposition you when you are in his care, and when he hardly knows you. Added to that, he shows none of the devotion of your other suitor."

"Other suitor? Oh. Oh no. No! My mirror thinks- That man is not- He's not…" Hermione tried to put into words the vast number of reasons why Ron Weasley was inferior to every other man in the universe and much of its insect life to boot, but her sheer fury at having his character brought into a conversation about Adam. As far as Hermione was concerned, she saw no reason why Ron would be in any way involved with any possible relationship with the charming Healer, oblivious to the fact that the red head was already fuming about it to a thoroughly unsympathetic Harry.

"He's taller too," the mirror mused, with the tone of a middle aged woman with a slight crush, and the hue of the reflection turned a mild pink as it continued to mutter and reflect on the merits of Ron Weasley.

"Oh, shut up!"

"Really dear-"

"SHUT UP!"

Hermione turned over indignantly, feigning sleep in a desperate attempt to convince the mirror to shut up, if just out of matronly consideration. It worked and the young girl soon found herself dozing peacefully with no unwelcome interruptions of any kind.

--

It seems a rule in the wizarding world that peace cannot reign in one room without complete and utter mayhem occurring in another. In this case it was a room only a few doors down the corridor where Ron Weasley had been incarcerated for his own safety whilst the nasty cut on his head was subjected to all manner of treatments. The most recent of these had been applied by one Adam Farr, who had no idea that his recent conversation with Hermione had been overheard by the Weasley and thus had had no clue as to why the man had insisted on glaring savagely at him the whole time.

As the bemused Healer left, Ron turned to his best friend, Harry Potter, who was sitting beside the bed, having been sent by his fiancée to prevent Ron from doing anything stupid, such as getting drunk again or throwing furniture, an event which had become quite common during his legendary hangover rages. However, Harry was surprised when Ron simply began to speak in a way that was frankly, well, bitchy.

"He looks short, doesn't he?"

"Who?"

"That guy. Healer. Short, right? Shorter than me. And you. Short, in general." The reasons, well, reason, for Ron's sudden burst of animosity should have been obvious to the red head but, eager to deny anything as petty or as pathetic as simple jealousy, Ron's mind had been devising various illogical reasons for his loathing of Adam. Chief among these, apparently, was his height, which just illustrated the weakness of his argument overall.

"If you say so. How hard did you hit your head?"

"I'm just saying the man is short. And his nose is a bit big. Huge, really. And that accent is irritating beyond belief, worse than Pansy Parkinson." Ron paused, gathering his thoughts together, though there were very few there, and all ran along the same line. "I don't like him."

Harry frowned. Ron had been harder to predict over the past five years, but Harry wasn't his best friend for nothing. This latest outburst was unusual and yet felt completely familiar. It reminded him of the red head's reaction to Cormac Mclaggen and, to a greater extent, Viktor Krum, and yet, as far as Harry knew (since apparently, no one communicates in hospitals) there was nothing to link this particular man to Hermione, if it was indeed Hermione Ron was worried about. If Ron was now attacking every man that even breathed near the girl, it didn't look as though the coming weeks were going to be easy on the bloke. Trying to inject some reason back into the man, Harry ventured out his own opinion on Adam. "He, uh, didn't seem that bad…?"

"Oh, great, now you're against me." Ron turned pointedly on his side and Harry gave up, turning back to some reports from work that he needed to read.

--

A few hours later Hermione was pronounced fit enough to leave the hospital, provided she received the proper amount of rest and recuperation and promised not to forget the blistering potion which was to be taken three times a day at the most inconvenient times possible. The first was before breakfast, the second after lunch and the third at around five pm. How they expected her to eat anything after scouring her throat with that particular medicine was completely beyond her.

With Harry on her left and an already protective Adam flanking her on the right, Hermione was frog marched to a waiting car as it dawned upon her that she was not going to get a moment alone in the next few days. It seemed clear that her friends were too afraid of her disappearing again to trust her with any personal time she might require in order to understand the events of the previous few days. However, she was confused as to why they seemed determined to be so overly protective of her until, as the old cliché goes, she felt eyes on her back. Even though there was no one lurking suspiciously in the hospital doorway, Hermione suddenly realised the position she had forced herself into.

Stupidly, she'd imagined herself safe away from her council flat and her odious ex-boss, as if the wizarding world were a perfect haven when of course, it could be anything but. Hermione had now pushed herself onto the front page and back into the sights of the renegades who still remained in Britain, taking their revenge against the remaining Order members. As Harry joined her in the back seat and Adam waved them off, Hermione tried to remember if anyone over the last couple of days, had mentioned anything that might have suggested the situation was better, but all she found in her memories were indications that it was worse.

Molly Weasley had mentioned that there were renegades capable of killing Harry, that day she'd arrived at the flat. When Hermione had last been on the scene as it were, the threat had seemed miniscule and fading fast, but from the way Harry kept glancing at her and the street, she imagined it had worsened considerably. Her absence couldn't have helped. Now she was beginning to see it from a more sensible point of view (the last five years had hardly been her shining moment of intelligence) she realised that the rumours could have strengthened the movement as much as any definitive action.

A sudden thought made her stomach clench uncomfortably with guilt and fear. "Harry- R- His head? That wasn't – It was magic, wasn't it? It wouldn't heal and- They were that close." Hermione told herself it was just the last part that worried her. She didn't care about Ron Weasley. She didn't.

"Don't think about it." Her friend's solemn face and clipped speech told her all she needed to know. However, she put on her best smile and vowed to try and follow his advice.

Uncomfortable, and having never really had the social skills that Harry occasionally possessed, when he wasn't going off and getting killed for the greater good, Hermione attempted a clumsy change of topic. "So, um, where will I be staying? Gringotts?" She managed to eke out a smile and tried to continue the joke, despite her unease. "The Leaky Cauldron? Flourish and Blotts? Actually, that's a good idea, I need to catch up on my reading-"

"You'll be staying with me and Ginny-"

"Ginny and I," Hermione couldn't help interjecting.

"The offer can be rescinded at anytime you know."

"Sorry."

--

"Is it ok?"

Ginny mused for a moment. "Twirl again. Now the other way. Ok, and the other way? Now, really fast. No, slower."

Hermione stopped twirling to give her friend a glare. Now thoroughly dizzy, she had to sit down before she could speak. Holding a hand to her head, relieved to find her hair had not re-frizzed from all the centrifugal force she managed to stick her tongue out at the younger woman before she was forced to concentrate hard on a spot on the wall simply to make the world stop spinning. "You are a cruel and unusual woman. Now, does it look ok?"

With a giggle, Ginny nodded. "You will be the belle of the ball. Well, the pub. He's seriously taking you to the pub?" Her mouth twisted in a hint of disapproval, which received another glare in return, though a more petulant one.

"I like the pub. It's friendly, without being just friends, and it isn't overly romantic, " Hermione argued, stoically sticking up for her date, ignoring her own worries about the situation. The truth was, she too had been expecting a restaurant rather than a muggle gastro pub. Still, she supposed, it was good to try new things, and Adam must know what he was doing and she saw no reason not to trust him.

"It isn't romantic at all! But, hey, maybe you have a thing for tables with ring marks and an old faded dart board in the corner." Ginny was rewarded with a fiercely thrown pillow for her long thought out criticisms. "Ok, ok, I'm giving him a chance. I just think that a pub isn't the most hopeful of settings and now I'm being quiet. See? Quiet." If Ginny had any misgivings about the man himself, or any hopes for another suitor, closer to home than Adam Farr, she hid it well, and Hermione saw nothing but jest in her friend's words.

It had been three days since Hermione had been discharged from the hospital, and despite her carefree appearance, she had yet to leave Harry and Ginny's flat. Something about the wizarding world scared her after so long away from it, and she couldn't get sued to the stares of people that had followed her even when she was in the car. Her picture, or at least, a picture of her, though she could hardly see any resemblance between the Hermione of five years ago and herself, had been plastered across the front page of the Daily Prophet for four days running and, although Rita Skeeter's exclusive had dispelled some rumours, others were still flying like poison arrows.

It was a relief to know that for this, her first night out since, well, it, she would be flying under the radar, in the company of a highly capable young healer who was more than attractive enough for Hermione to be looking forward to their date. So much so that she was on a fourth outfit of the evening and Adam had yet to arrive.

"How's it going?" Harry called from the main room of the flat – he was wise enough to know that where clothes were involved it was important to stay out of range. A stiletto in the head was worse than any bat bogey hex, even one of Ginny's. "Are we on four or five?"

"Fourth and final. I think. I'm not sure. Ginny?"

"She's ready."

"No, I'm not! I need… Something!"

But her frantic search for whatever it was that she needed was interrupted by the doorbell.

--

Oooh, how exciting. Not. But the next chapter will include Hermione's date. Will it end well? Or will it be a flop? You decide!

(Well, I decide, but you can influence me. Just push the button and order me to do something. Because peer pressure makes the world a better place.)


End file.
